


Mail Call

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter accidentally reads a letter intended for Winston, and thinks the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mail Call

First published in  _Magic & Mystery 2 _(2005)

 

He wouldn’t have done it intentionally. Been tempted to, maybe, but not actually followed through. But once it was there in front of him, it was hard to ignore.

It had been his turn to recharge the packs, a chore Peter Venkman did with much loud grumbling and whining—appearances had to be kept up, after all—but willingly enough. It beat some of the other jobs Egon had lined up for the day, like the newest improvements to the containment unit he’d asked Ray to put into effect, or, even worse, driving around the city taking readings at precise points, the job he’d given to Winston. Which left Peter to do the mundane work, as he’d grievously pointed out to his completely unsympathetic friends. Not that he really minded, Peter thought with a private smile as he worked. Manual labor wasn’t his favorite activity, but he did love his job and was okay with doing his share of the drudge work. It still beat sitting in a tie and suit behind a desk nine-to-five.

His and Egon’s packs were already done, and Peter moved on to the next one in line, Winston’s. The eldest Ghostbuster had left his uniform draped over the pack in his hurry to disrobe for a date the night before, and Peter grinned at the dried-on purple ectoplasm that liberally draped the material, a reminder of the particularly amusing bust. It had cheered him to no end to finally find a ghost that seemed far more attracted to _any_ member of the team besides him. He would keep fond memories of that evening’s entertainment, watching the ugly purple Class Five swoop circles around Winston like some demented bee.

Peter had lifted the uniform gingerly with two fingers to free the pack from underneath, and that was when the letter fell out. And opened flat, the first few lines jumping out at Peter before the psychologist had a chance to preserve his partner’s privacy.

_Hey, Winston! I hear you’re one of those Ghostbusters now. Man, I had no idea you were that hard up for a job! You should have come to me first. Listen, I have an opening in the design department, just the kind of stuff you like to do, and the pay will make anything you’re getting now seem like chicken feed. I’ll send you the details, but, man, if you want it, the job is yours—_

That was all he read, but it was enough.

 _He’s going to leave._ Peter swallowed, mouth suddenly dry at the unavoidable thought. But there was absolutely no reason to think Winston would take the job offer or leave, right? He’d only been with the Ghostbusters for nearly a year, true, but already the four of them had become a close-knit team _cum_ family. Their newest member seemed to round out their trio into a complete quartet, and Peter had grown to trust Winston as much as either of his two old friends. Nor had Winston ever seemed to be less than happy to be part of the team, or to be entertaining thoughts of leaving.

 _But then why keep the letter with him? Good pay, something Winston would enjoy—why wouldn’t he consider it?_ Slender, tough strands of betrayal worked their way into Peter’s mind, grasping and tugging at him. Followed by anger.

The packs were forgotten, suddenly unimportant. “Ray!” Peter bellowed in the direction of the basement steps, then folded the letter roughly and, jaw set, hurried upstairs.

The scene that greeted him in the lab was one that would have normally made him grin with pleasure. Egon was bent over a half-finished tricycle, muttering to himself as he looked the directions, glared the toy in front of him, then turned the instruction sheet sideways and contemplated it that way. Peter had been gleeful when the physicist had promised Janine he’d assemble the toy for her nephew, for while higher mathematics were child’s play to him, children’s toys were a whole other matter. He’d been puzzling over it for two days already, providing Peter with hours of fun.

Now, however, the psychologist didn’t even pause in his headlong stride through the door, too upset to think about anything but what was in the letter he clutched in his hand. And what it implied.

Peter circled the worktable to face his friend over the lopsided tricycle, and draped the letter over the handlebars, directly in front of the scientist’s face. “Egon, look at this.”

Egon glanced up, frowning at the interruption, his impatience disappearing just as quickly as he saw Peter’s expression. Without protest, he adjusted his glasses and took the letter, scanning it briefly. Then he frowned again.

“Peter, this is a private letter addressed to Winston. You didn’t read this, did you?” He looked up sternly at Peter over the red rims of his glass frames.

“No. I mean, well, just the beginning. I didn’t mean to—it fell out of his uniform. But read the first few lines.” Peter gestured impatiently.

“Reading correspondence belonging to others is—”

“Something wrong?” Ray’s voice sounded from the doorway, slightly out of breath.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Peter said darkly, snatching the letter away from Egon and striding back to the doorway to thrust it at Ray. “Read this.”

Ray looked puzzledly first at Peter, then at the letter. “But, Peter, this is addressed…to….” His voice trailed off as his eyes moved over the first few lines, then he gasped. “Oh, gosh, do you think he’s going to take it?” He looked up at Peter in dismay.

Peter frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Great pay, great job, an old friend asking….” He hated the flip-flops his stomach was doing. Surely this couldn’t be true. He’d just begun to feel really settled with these guys, like the Four Musketeers. Winston just _couldn’t_ leave. And yet, they couldn’t keep him there, either. Peter wouldn’t have wished that opportunity away from his friend, even if the very thought of Zeddemore accepting his buddy’s offer made Peter furious.

And, way deep down inside, shaken.

The letter was pulled out of Ray’s loose grasp by a slender hand that reached around Peter. “Gentlemen, you are reading Winston’s private mail.” Egon looked stern as Peter turned back toward him. “I don’t think you would be very appreciative if he invaded your privacy like that.”

“I didn’t mean to read the letter, Egon,” Peter shook his head, “and I only caught the first few lines, but they’re doozies. Winston’s friend offered him a great job with great pay. Bet it’s a lot easier than busting, too. We should’ve known better.” This wasn’t the time for the levity he sometimes tried to inject into down times, but Peter hadn’t planned on sounding so bitter. What was there to be bitter about? Winston hadn’t signed any contracts, made any promises, or pledged any vows. After his five-second interview and hiring, he’d simply fallen right into the job, working as hard as they, investing as much in it as the rest of them, or so it had appeared. After a while, it just seemed like he’d become as much a part of the Ghostbusters as its three founding members, and Peter had taken it for granted the older man would stay forever. But how realistic was that, really?

“That doesn’t mean he’ll take it,” Ray protested, even as Egon gave Peter a thoughtful look. Peter ducked his head away. Egon of all people would know how personally he was taking this, and with all the feelings roiling inside him, this was not a time Peter wanted to be transparent.

But it was Ray Egon answered. “Of course not. We have all had lucrative offers we’ve turned down—why should Winston be any different? He seems happy here….”

“ _Seems_ ,” Peter pointed out, subdued. Yes, they all had gotten other offers, particularly Egon. He’d even walked away from a job at the family lab. Why should Winston do any less?

Or were they all just one right offer away from leaving busting for good?

 _He_ wasn’t, Peter was certain of that. There was nothing else he’d rather have been doing, and that included his old dreams of rock stardom and being the next Hugh Hefner. Egon and Ray…well, he was pretty sure they were as attached as he was…although Egon got that look in his eye sometimes when he was reading about some exciting research project….

“I’d never leave you guys or busting,” Ray said with an intensity unusual for the most carefree member of their team, as if he’d read Peter’s thoughts.

“Nor I.” Egon’s vehemence was even stronger, his look piercing.

Okay, so he was as see-through as polished glass. Peter colored a little, but the relief that swelled in him was worth it. His two oldest buddies wouldn’t be deserting him any time soon. Which left just the newest member of the team. “What about Winston?” he asked quietly.

“Winston is of course free to make his own choices.” Egon finally was showing a little of the uncertainty Peter was experiencing. “If he is happier elsewhere, I would not want to keep him here.”

“Me, neither,” Ray chimed in. “But…do you think…I mean, I can’t imagine busting without him anymore, can you?”

Peter shook his head glumly. No, he couldn’t. Besides being one of his best friends, Winston was also the stabilizing force on the team. Level-headed, battle-experienced, and steady in personality, the former soldier had brought tactical skills and a large measure of safety to their work. While they’d all learned a lot from Winston already, to be on their own again unquestionably meant a higher level of risk beyond that of being a man short, in an already risky job.

But even safety wasn’t as pressing an issue as the thought of Winston leaving. There was no address on the letter, no way of telling if the job he was being offered was local. It could be halfway across the country, for all they knew, but even if it wasn’t, they would hardly be seeing each other day-to-day anymore, sharing quiet evenings at home and raucous nights on the town, watching mysteries Winston always solved halfway through, enjoying the brand of home-cooking Winston had learned at his mother’s hands. They’d stay friends in name, of course, but the reality was that of losing someone close to him. Again.

“So what do we do, guys?” Ray asked, looking as helpless as Peter felt.

“We cannot mention the letter,” Egon began.

“No,” Peter agreed. “We can’t even let on we know. If we pressure him, he might just decide to stay so he won’t hurt our feelings, and that’d be the wrong reason. He’s gotta decide this for himself.”

“And what if he decides to take the job?” Ray asked in a small voice.

“Then we’ll just have to support him in that.” Peter marveled at the strength in his voice. “I know it won’t be easy….”

“No. But he deserves that much,” Egon said.

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.”

They fell into sober silence until Egon finally wandered back to his work bench and bent over the tricycle again, and Ray heaved an unhappy sigh and shuffled out of the room, his steps heavy on the stairs as he returned to his lab. Peter stared after him a long minute, then began to follow him out.

“Peter.”

He turned back at Egon’s call, absently thankful again for this other steady presence on their team, and in his life. “Yeah, Egon?”

“It will turn out all right.”

Egon didn’t know the future any more than he did, but Peter found himself minutely lifted by the promise. Yeah—they were all alive, healthy, and for now, together. They’d faced far longer odds in the past. Peter smiled fondly at his oldest friend. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Egon nodded, watching him a moment longer, then bent over the tricycle again.

If only life came with instructions and a picture of the finished product like toys did. But the choices they’d made to work together and become friends were what made those friendships and job so precious. If Winston stayed for any reason but that he wanted to, it wouldn’t have much value. But if he left, it meant Peter had valued what they had more than the older man did. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face that if it were true. He’d done that once already with someone he loved dearly and the hurt from that rejection still ran deep.

Peter angrily strode out the door and down the stairs, back to the packs.

Being mad hurt less than what he really felt.

 

Something was screwy.

Ever since he’d come back from the little assignment Egon had sent him on, things had felt…different. Winston couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there had been a change. Had something happened while he was gone? But a surreptitious tour of the firehall had revealed no charred walls or signs of battle or an accident, or even re-decoration. And asking the guys…well, if Peter gave him that innocent “what on earth are you _talking_ about?” look one more time, or Ray scooted into another room again when Winston even glanced at him, Winston was going to do some damage of his own. It felt like the guys were on their guard, as if they were worried about something, and there was an odd tension in the air. Yet nobody seemed bothered by it except for him.

But why deny it if something was wrong? Unless…they weren’t aware of it? Could it be they were under some sort of influence and didn’t even know it, an influence he’d escaped by being away at the time? In their line of work, it was possible. Winston snagged the extra PKE meter from the locker downstairs and took some readings of the firehall and Peter in his office. Nothing weird that he could see. Okay, so a spell wouldn’t leave a signature he could pick up, but that was no reason to assume a spell was in effect. Yet.

Besides, he was starting to get the unpleasant impression the unease he felt was centered around him. He was the one Ray was avoiding eye-contact with and Peter was subtly watching and even Egon had contrived to be near more than usual. Winston’s sixth sense was going crazy with the feeling people were watching him, and indeed, he hadn’t been alone since he’d returned. So maybe it was something he’d done, something that had made them suspicious or wary? But what? Winston had been wracking his brain ever since and coming up empty. Peter had switched Ray’s clean boxers for women’s panties the other day, and Winston had seen Egon stealthily steal Peter’s secret magazine stash from his desk that morning and hide it in the bottom of Ray’s closet, but that was their usual playing around. Besides, Winston hadn’t done anything like that in some time. He was probably overdue, in fact. So what, then? He’d been doing his chores that week—it was his turn to take out the trash and do the grocery shopping—and had refilled the packs a few days before. Ecto was running as smoothly as ever, and he’d even broken off a date when an emergency call had come in. If anything, he’d been on good behavior of late.

Winston sighed, sensing Peter’s eyes on him even as the psychologist pretended to be reading a novel across the room from him. Suddenly annoyed, Winston got up and switched on the TV, then settled back and pretended he was alone in the room watching…Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Terrific. He grabbed the remote and listlessly began flipping through channels.

If he were honest with himself, the truth of it was he’d been on good behavior since he’d started on this very unusual job of a lifetime. Okay, so at the beginning he’d been rattled by his introduction to the world of the supernatural and wasn’t at all sure this was the job for him. Sometimes he still didn’t, like when ghosts took a particular shine to sliming him, as the Purple Ugly from the day before had. Ghostbusting took a little more adjusting to than putting up drywall or laying bricks. And it hadn’t helped that his three teammates had been at it a lot longer than he and were almost blasé about the whole thing by the time he came along. Or that they were already best friends, as close as brothers.

But that had eventually become the most appealing aspect of the job. Sure, the spooks were interesting and Winston enjoyed the challenge, and he’d stopped envying others their vanilla jobs a long time before. What really kept him hooked, however, was the fact the three crazy scientists he worked with were good people, men he’d been privileged to eventually call “friend.” And it seemed they’d taken him into their circle, too, with all the weight of their affection and concern—and teasing and annoying—that entailed. He’d come to worry and enjoy and, well, love them over time, too. It had seemed the best of all worlds, job and friends and even a home.

He glanced over at Peter, just in time to see the psychologist quickly glance back down at his paperback as if he hadn’t been watching Winston. Winston grimaced and turned back to the sitcom he’d landed on. There was no question about it: they were watching him. And why did you keep your eye on someone unless you were worried for them or suspicious of them. There was nothing he could think of that would cause the guys to worry, so….

Maybe the problem was obvious and he just didn’t want to admit it. The guys didn’t trust him after all. For whatever reason, whatever catalyst had brought this out now, they were having second thoughts about him and probably didn’t know how to bring it up, just keeping an eye on him in the meantime. It made sense.

It also dug holes into his gut the size of the ones he’d gotten in ‘Nam when friends had gone on patrol and never come back.

The simple fact was, the firehall had become his home, and the guys a second family. Maybe they’d only been together a year, but it was a year in which they faced danger, even death, daily, and that had a way of stripping men bare and bonding them with iron. Until that day, Winston had thought the feeling was mutual. Now….

Peter was watching him again, and Winston’s composure finally snapped. “Is there something between my teeth, my fly open, _what_ , Pete?” he demanded.

The younger man’s eyes rounded with surprise and almost-believable confusion. “What? You say something, Zed?”

Winston wriggled further down into the sofa cushions, staring darkly at the TV. “Never mind,” he muttered.

A half-hour later when he flicked the TV off and went upstairs to take a nap, he couldn’t remember a thing he’d watched, and Peter’s eyes followed him all the way up the steps. But he couldn’t sleep, his heart too heavy. And when Egon found some reason to start puttering around in the bunkroom, Winston gave up and went for a drive in Ecto.

While he still could.

 

Tricycles were complicated enough without other thoughts distracting you. Egon pursed his lips in annoyance as he glanced back at the directions he’d just looked at a minute ago to find again just where that screw was to go. The end of the pedal. Of course, but there were three holes in the pedal and none looked the right size for the screw. This truly had to be the most involuted method possible for putting together such a relatively simple mechanism as a tricycle. Indeed, Egon could have devised something much simpler in no time at all. It was tempting, but for some reason, Janine had made him promise not to improvise. Which left him to follow a set of instructions that would have been easier to understand if they’d been written in Old German.

Still, machines were easier to figure out than people, and far more Egon’s element. No matter how asinine the instructions, there was a right answer, a solution, one just had to find it. The scientific method didn’t work with people, however. There often _was_ no right answer, but even finding the best answer often involved much heartache and trial. For all he teased Peter about his soft sciences, Egon often privately thought his friend’s job far harder and wouldn’t have traded with him for anything.

The screw didn’t fit any of the holes. Disgusted, Egon sorted through the pile of screws and nuts and washers that had come with the toy, searching for one that would be the right fit.

Like Winston. Egon had somehow assumed they would take on another scientist for the team when the work proved too much for the three of them, but that was before Winston had come along. True, he wasn’t a scientist. He didn’t even have a college degree, but he had a keen mind and often came up with unusual solutions that evaded the rest of them. Even more, he’d brought with him combat experience and the sort of practical knowledge Egon hadn’t even realized they’d needed before Winston arrived. He’d kept them alive more than once, and for that alone Egon would have been deeply grateful to the man, less for Egon’s own sake than for Peter and Ray’s. It made Winston an ideal addition to their team.

But he also _fit_ with them, as if there’d been a space just his size waiting to be filled. Winston, too, had become more than just the sum of his addition to the team. He was now, in the odd way the rest of them were, family.

No screw in the pile on the workbench seemed to fit any of the holes on the pedal. More exasperated than the problem really deserved, Egon turned to his own collection of nuts and bolts in a workbench drawer to find a replacement.

But replacements weren’t so easy to find. Perfect fits were rare and Egon knew it.

Then there were the others. Ray would be crushed if Winston left; he of all of them hardly had any other family besides his teammates, and Winston’s departure would be painful for him. He would bounce back—Ray had an eternal optimism Egon often admired even if he didn’t understand it—but it would not be easy for him. And Peter…Peter didn’t bounce, he scarred. Loss meant betrayal to him, and he would take Winston’s departure even worse than Ray. On the surface, he would show it less, but Egon knew how deep his oldest friend’s feelings ran. One day he feared Peter would be so scarred, nothing would penetrate again. Egon would do anything in his power to keep that from happening, but some things were beyond him.

Like comprehending that hellish machine lying in pieces before him. Egon was beginning to doubt any screw existed that would fit in it just right. Muttering dark deprecations to himself, he pulled out several more potentials, methodically trying and discarding each one.

Not that it was certain Winston was leaving, of course. The letter had been a private one and none of their concern. If Peter hadn’t come across it and read more than he should have, the doubts wouldn’t have even entered Egon’s mind. But now that they had and he’d started to look, really look at their newest addition to the team, Egon was worried by what he saw. There was an edginess to Winston he’d not noticed before, a restless impatience that did not bode well. He’d been almost curt when Egon had encountered him in the bunkroom, and immediately left to take a ride in Ecto. Perhaps he’d just become claustrophobic from living with those he worked with. It had taken some adjustment for Egon, too, but now he would not have had it any other way. Not all people were like that, though. Some would find it suffocating, no doubt. And Winston certainly seemed to be showing the signs he felt that way.

Ah, perhaps this screw would fit? It was fractionally too large, but with some force…there!

The alarm rang.

Egon breathed a sigh of relief. Rarely was he so happy to leave a project in mid-completion, even with the latest problem unsolved. There was still a small pile of hardware to assemble and only the apish directions to be his guide. Perhaps a break would offer him some sort of illumination about the rest.

Egon hurried down the stairs, joining Peter at the second floor. Ray skidded to join them as they reached the bottom, and Winston, apparently just returned from his drive, was already silently suiting up at the lockers. Egon caught the significant glance Peter threw his and Ray’s way, and had no response to it. He opted instead to collect the assignment from Janine while the others joined Winston at the lockers.

“Sounds like a bad one. Just a ghost on Wall Street, but a lot of people are panicking,” she said in her usual dry drawl, but there was concern in her eyes. He thought for a moment it was for the job, but as she glanced past him at the others, it was obvious Janine was picking up on their unease. She was a lot more perceptive than they often gave her credit for. Not to mention lovelier….

Job. Right. Egon straightened, clearing his throat. “Yes. Thank you.” He took the slip, offering her a smile he suspected was rather painful, and went to join the others.

Two minutes later, they were pulling out of the firehall in Ecto. They had it down to a fast routine, more so than many fire stations, Egon suspected. Almost a rhythm. A new addition would break that rhythm, slow them down, pull them out of synch.

And _why_ could he not keep his mind on the matter at hand?

Wall Street wasn’t that far off, only a mile or so, and even though Pearl was a little congested, it only took a few minutes to get close.

And then the people started running past them, white-faced and wide-eyed, some in tears.

“This looks bad,” Peter muttered from the back seat, and Egon silently agreed, an unusual anxiety pulling at his own composure.

It worsened as they got closer. People streamed past them as if fleeing for their lives, their faces universally showing terror. And the more panic he saw in their faces, the tighter Egon’s chest got.

Or maybe….

“Maybe…maybe we should go back and get some more equipment, guys. This looks like a bad one.” Ray’s voice actually had a tremor in it, and as Egon looked back at him, surprised, he saw Stantz’s face was pale, too. Next to him, Peter watched the fleeing people with a haunted expression.

“I’m all for that,” Winston said from the driver’s seat. His hand was clenched on the steering wheel, bleaching his knuckles. He’d slowed to make sure they didn’t hit anyone but was still advancing, though he looked like it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Something was very wrong about this.

Egon shook his head, the motion feeling too abrupt. “We must find out what we’re dealing with first,” he said. They were only a block away now, and he fumbled for his meter with clumsy fingers. The readings made him blink and check again. A strong Class Five? That was what everyone was so afraid of?

But even as his brain noted the low reading, his fear inched up another degree, bordering now on rarely felt terror. His heart was pounding, his mouth dry, and breathing was becoming difficult in the enclosed car. It wasn’t just a Class Five, it was something much worse, something out of nightmare and madness, and to go near it would be….

“Egon,” Ray moaned from the back. He was bent over as if in pain.

Winston screeched to a halt, mumbling something frantically under his breath.

Everything was wrong. Egon’s eyes met Peter’s across the back of the seat and he saw the same fear in them, but also a desperation of a different sort. “Egon.” It was clearly an effort to speak, or maybe not to scream. “We have to…fight this.”

Yes. Yes, it was artificial, some sort of compulsion to panic. Egon knew it in his mind and willed his intellect to rein in the irrational fear. But the madness was so close, he couldn’t bear….

Winston’s voice was rising, and Ray groaned again.

“Back up, Zed,” Peter suddenly ordered, iron in his words.

Perhaps it was instinctive obedience, or perhaps it broke some sort of hold, but Winston immediately jerked the car into reverse, starting to weave backward with just enough self-control to avoid mowing down the crowd around them.

Almost immediately the tightness in Egon’s chest eased, the feeling of suffocation fading to just tolerable.

Winston kept going, his jaw set and his eyes glued to the street. They finally reached a clearer space where they could turn around, and he drove Ecto silently back toward the firehall.

Ray finally uncurled, the fine auburn hair around his face damp with sweat and color just starting to drain back into his cheeks. “What was _that?_ ”

Egon took a deep breath. Only a lingering unease remained now. “A potent protective mechanism,” he murmured. With the fear nearly gone, it seemed almost ludicrous to have been that terrified over nothing, and yet his heart was still beating uncomfortably fast, his palms clammy. Egon rubbed them surreptitiously against his jumpsuit. “I believe we’ve discovered a ghost that emits some sort of panic-inducing effect much as a skunk emits a smell.”

“Lucky us,” Winston said wryly.

Peter hadn’t said anything but was listening to them and watching Ray. Monitoring them, Egon realized, even though the psychologist also looked too white and his hands were clenched in his lap. “We cannot confront the ghost without finding some way to nullify its effect,” Egon said quietly.

Peter’s eyes flicked over to meet his and he shook his head no before turning back to Ray again.

“Yeah. If Pete hadn’t told me to leave, I don’t think I coulda figured out what to do. It was like I was…paralyzed.” Winston gave a disgusted snort. “Man, it’s not even like there was anything to be scared _of_.”

“Sometimes that’s the worst kind of fear,” Peter said quietly. Experience of some sort, Egon wondered? He’d seemed the one of them most able to resist the compulsion.         

“Maybe we could use some of our mood slime research to figure out a way to block it,” Ray ventured, finally sounding more like himself.

Egon nodded. “We will have to do it quickly, however—such a ghost could have disastrous effects if allowed to roam loose for too long.”

“Just let me know what I can do to help,” Winston said.

Egon saw Peter’s eyes flick to the back of the black man’s head, and Ray also glanced at him. Egon’s heart, newly recovered, sank again. Oh, yes, they did have one legitimate fear that had not gone away. If only he could build something as easily to fix that.

But that would have to wait for the moment. Egon leaned over the seat and, focusing on the problem at hand, began to discuss ideas with Ray.

 

That was…scary. And not just because of the panic that had taken him over. No, this was frightening because of how easily the groundless fear had circumvented all his logic and rational thought and taken over his mind and body. He hadn’t felt fear like that since Vietnam.

Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. There had been a few times when they’d faced a particularly nasty being over the last year and it had struck some sort of subconscious nerve, childhood nightmares or buried fears, and had really rattled him. It was always a gut reaction, not the fear of death that he’d tamed some time ago. No, this was the fear of something worse, like madness or eternal pain or…or losing a loved one.

If Winston had needed a reminder of how good they were as a team, that afternoon would have been it. Even now, the two mad geniuses were upstairs figuring out a way to keep the Nasty from affecting how they _felt_. If there were instructions anywhere for some gadget to do that, Winston sure hadn’t come across them in his lifetime. Meanwhile, Peter had turned into some kind of shadow, watching them all closely for any residual effects of the panic. It reminded Winston of Peter’s scrutiny earlier that day, but that had made him feel wary and worried, while this, this was reassuring. This was looking out for your buddies, which he, at least, had thought the four of them were. If Peter hadn’t snapped him out of it in the car and told him to get out of there…Winston didn’t want to think about that one.

Of course, what good was he doing in all this? He’d gone out to get some parts Egon had asked for, taken over for Janine when the calls for help and media questions got to be too much, and ordered some pizza—then made the guys eat it—as afternoon turned into evening and everyone seemed to have forgotten about food. Then he just kept the coffee coming and stayed handy in case anyone needed anything. Yeah, really useful. A good housekeeper would have done as much for half the salary.

Not that he was doing it for pay—no way. You couldn’t pay somebody enough to do this job if that was the only reason they were doing it. Winston wanted to help get the Nasty, sure. He owed it as much. But he was also part of this motley group, and he’d do his best to pull his weight.

Even if it was just standing around, looking helpful. Winston winced silently. No wonder they were having second thoughts about him. He’d always tried to do his best: he kept Ecto running, did his share of the chores, and drilled the guys in tactics they could use on busts. He was also looking into going back to school, maybe getting an engineering degree, though he hadn’t told the guys yet. It could be pretty intimidating, working with three doctors when all you had to show was a high school diploma. It had never bothered him before, but Winston suddenly felt self-conscious. The truth was, he did bring less to the table than the others. Another PhD would have been a better choice than a blue-collar guy like himself.

Four scientists fighting it out against some of the demons and creatures they’d run up against? Winston grimaced. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, after all. They’d get themselves killed in a week. They _needed_ someone like him, and the skills and experience he had. Why couldn’t they see that?

Talk about a real fear. This one had substance and reached where the ghost’s artificial panic hadn’t been able to, into the depth of his heart.

Egon straightened, and Ray turned toward Winston and Peter, a grin lighting his face.

“I think we’ve got a way to stop it!”

If only.

 

Ray didn’t often feel real fear, but he felt it that day.

The raw terror the class five had roused in him still lingered somewhere in his mind like, well, a ghost, haunting his thoughts and twisting his stomach. It had been so bad, he hadn’t even been able to think, he’d just hurt and trembled and tried not to bawl like a kid. It was _awful_ , a loss of control in the worst kind of way.

And yet it had still been purely physical. The fear of the fear returning was still there and even the memory of it made him shudder, but there was no basis to the fear, nothing real to be afraid of. That kind of emotion would soon dissipate and leave him untouched.

There was a far more real cause for concern that wouldn’t go away, however.

Ray hadn’t wanted to believe the letter, and was still a little angry at Peter for having read it and raised the possibility. It hadn’t even occurred to him before then that any of the guys would want to leave what had to be the greatest job in the whole world, with three of the best buddies a guy could have. They were _family_ , and you didn’t just walk out on family when a better offer called. It was like a divorce or a disowning or…something. How could Winston even consider it?

But if he did, how fair was it to hold him back? Winston had never been in love with the field like the three of them had, hadn’t mortgaged and sacrificed to set up the business. He hadn’t even had the chance to go to college and prepare for it like they had been fortunate enough to do. Maybe to him it had just been a job, and now he was looking forward to a better one.

It made sense, sort of. But it still made Ray feel sick and weighted with misery at the very thought. And this kind of fear wouldn’t be fading so easily, either. It distracted him, and Egon had subtly drawn his attention back to the work at hand more than once, giving him a significant look each time that said he knew exactly how Ray felt. Peter, hovering nearby, also gave him a pat on the shoulder or touched his arm occasionally with the same message. That shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was. Ray wasn’t the only one facing that loss, and he would never be completely alone. Just lonelier.

He rubbed at his eyes and went back to work. It had been hours now, but they were almost done.

Egon’s tricycle had been pushed to one side—was he still working on that thing? Ray had offered to help and was turned down, but that had been two days before. Anyway, it was at the end of the workbench now, ignored, and in its place was coming together the pack-sized machine Egon had sketched out for him on the way home.

The shield generator was really pretty ingenious. Egon came up with some incredible ideas that left Ray in awe, some like this that he didn’t even understand completely. But it would work, Ray could feel it. They’d finally be able to stop this ghost that was scaring and upsetting so many people. How could anyone not love a job like that?

Stubbornly setting his jaw against a new flush of depression, he listened as Egon explained the basics to the others, watching particularly as Winston nodded without hesitation. Then he and Egon carried the shield generator carefully downstairs, followed by Peter and Winston. They had never shed their jumpsuits, so it was just a matter of loading the generator into Ecto and they were off again.

“So, what exactly is the range on this thing, Egon?” Peter asked. He’d called shotgun in a less enthusiastic voice than usual but immediately turned to rest both arms on the seatback and face them. “I’d hate to freak out in the middle of trapping this thing.”

“Not very large—a radius of approximately fifteen feet. Any more than that would have required a greater power source than I had available. We will have to remain close together.”

“Yeah, tight formation, guys. Remember what I said about close engagement—always be aware of where your buddies are and try to stay lined up so there’s no crossfire,” Winston added.

Well, at least he sounded normal. But then, Winston wasn’t the kind of person who would shirk his last few days on the job. He was probably just trying to let them down easy, Ray thought unhappily. His stomach knotted again.

Egon and Peter were also looking strained, and it took a moment more to realize it wasn’t just because of Winston. They weren’t even halfway to Wall Street yet, but the ghost had probably been moving, too, and apparently towards them. Ray turned his head and raised an eyebrow at Egon, who nodded. Ray leaned over the back seat and flicked the switch on the generator.

The change was startling. Ray suddenly felt weightless, as if the pressure of all his worries and anxieties had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders and back. Peter and Egon’s expressions also eased, and Winston breathed a sigh of relief, his hands flexing, loosened, on the steering wheel.

“I think it works, Spengs,” Peter said dryly.

“Of course.” A touch of a smile said he was still pleased, though.

It was dark outside Ecto’s windows, well on its way to the middle of the night. The streets were nearly empty, a combination of the late hour and, doubtless, the nearness of the ghost. Still, a car occasionally passed by, the driver unusually intent and driving aggressively. They were getting closer, and while there was a slight unease in Ray’s gut, it wasn’t the horrible feeling of before. He cast a grin at Egon, saw his friend acknowledge it with amused forbearance even as he fine-tuned the meter, and faced forward again, looking for the ghost. Another glance at Winston sent fresh worry through his heart, but now was not the time for that and Ray pushed it away. They could deal with that...later.

Winston was nearing the turn onto Wall, when his meter rose in pitch simultaneously with Egon’s “It’s here.” Ray strained to see as Winston turned the corner. And suddenly stopped, the ghost right in front of them.

Ray stared at it in disbelief.

It was small. No, make that tiny. Ghosts came in all shapes and sizes, but most of them were at least Slimer’s bag-of-laundry size if not bigger. However, the shred of transparent blue floating over the street before them was no bigger than one of Winston’s hard-backed mysteries, with nearly fluorescent edges and marble-sized, deep-set eyes. It had stopped at the sight of them and now watched the four of them get out of the car with as much apparent surprise as they felt at the sight of it.

“ _That’s_ the Big Nasty?” Winston finally said.

“It’s a midget ghost. Did we know there were midget ghosts?” Peter asked.

“At least it’ll be easy to trap,” Ray spoke up. In truth, he felt kind of sorry for it. It was almost cute, and was starting to look scared.

“Do not underestimate—”

Egon couldn’t even finish before Peter had snatched the trap off his own belt and held it up like a catcher’s mitt toward the ghost. He stomped on the pedal without hesitation and the ghost gave a squeal and slid inside.

“There,” he said with satisfaction. “Bite-size ghosts—I like it.”

“That could have been dangerous, Peter.” Egon stiffly insisted.

“But I got it.”

“It could have had other defenses we were unaware of, or been camouflaging its size.”

“But I got it.”

Egon gave Peter a look of exasperation that made both him and Ray smile. As he glanced at Winston to share the joke, however, the older Ghostbuster looked almost pained, his gaze serious. Ray’s joy vanished. Yes, they’d caught the ghost—easy as that was—but the danger wasn’t gone yet. And his unease hadn’t faded at all with the ghost’s trapping.

Egon and Peter quickly noticed it, too, and, mood dampened, the four of them returned their equipment to Ecto. Peter stared thoughtfully at the shield generator, then reached forward and turned the switch off.

Just as Ray had thought. His stomach remained as tightly wound as before.

Peter nodded to himself and muttered, “I thought so” quietly enough that Ray doubted anyone else had heard him. Peter felt it, too.

For once, Ray was unable to muster any enthusiasm for a successful bust or the discovery of a new ghostly skill, and the ride home was silent and very long.

 

That trip home was the final straw.

They’d gotten the Nasty after, okay, not exactly an epic battle, but certainly a lot of effort and misery on their part. The mayor would be grateful again, Pete would be collecting a big check for the bust, not to mention all the people they’d helped in getting rid of the source of the big scare. They should have been soaring after all that, Peter crowing, Ray bouncing, and Egon trying to hide that insufferably pleased look and failing. That would be followed by a late-night pizza binge, maybe a good mystery movie on TV, and sleeping in the next morning, which was as close to a perfect evening as you could get without including the opposite sex.

So why were they all looking like they were coming back from a funeral?           

There had been a moment, with Egon and Peter doing their usual back-and-forth, that things had felt almost normal, but the brief contentment with the world had just knocked it even harder into Winston’s head that those days could be numbered. Ray had looked at him as they’d stood on the street, and all the joy had just leached out of his face. He hadn’t even been able to meet Winston’s eye after that. There wasn’t much doubt about what they were planning for him now, but what Winston couldn’t figure out was, why? Why now, and why this after all he’d done and all they’d been through?

One thing he was certain of, though. He couldn’t keep going like this. It was time to bring it out into the open and make the guys say it to his face. Then…then he’d figure out what to do, because he sure as heck had no idea right now.

Ecto pulled smoothly into the firehall and Winston sat for a moment in the seat before decisively twisting the key to turn the engine off. The guys were already reaching for the handles when he turned to look them each in the eye, one at a time. “After we put that Nasty to bed, we need to talk.”

He could have said he was a typhoid carrier and they were all infected, and he would scarcely have gotten an unhappier reaction. All three of his teammates froze, their expressions ranging from upset to aghast. So, he’d been right: they were hiding something and had to spill it now even if they weren’t ready. The certainty gave him no pleasure.

Winston put on his best poker face and got out of the car, not looking back as he climbed the stairs to the bunkroom.

Changing into a comfortable pair of sweats didn’t put him much more at ease, but Winston found himself calming as he settled onto the living room sofa to wait for the guys to join him. Well, he’d given his job, and the guys, his best; on that his conscience was clear. If they wanted him to leave, maybe it was time to move on. God sometimes had to hit you over the head to get you to see what was right in front of you or to make a change, but it always turned out okay. He’d miss the guys—fiercely—but if they wanted him out, so be it. It was out of his hands now.

Ray came up the stairs first, almost childlike as he peered around them to see if Winston was there. He managed a warm smile for the engineer. Ray had been the easiest of the three to befriend, once you could accept he really was as friendly and honest as he seemed. If anyone had lobbied at all for Winston to stay, he could bet it was Stantz.

Ray stayed close to the banister and sat in the chair farthest from the sofa as if he were afraid Winston would bite, and Winston hid a wince. What could he have done that was so awful, Ray was afraid of telling him? As much as he searched his memory, he could come up with no answer.

Egon came next, eyeing Winston more openly but also clearly ill at ease. He at least sat on the other end of the couch, folding his hands into a position of thoughtfulness. He might have thought it illogical for Winston to stay on the team, an uneducated vet without any experience with the supernatural, but for Egon it wouldn’t have been personal. In time, Winston had come to appreciate the scientist and had thought it was mutual, that it was approval and fondness that sometimes glinted in the blond’s eyes, but he could have been wrong. One thing he was sure he wasn’t wrong about, though, and that was that Egon was a fair man.

Peter finally appeared, drying his hands on a towel he tossed carelessly into the kitchen as he passed it. All three of the guys had taken their jumpsuits off downstairs, but Pete was the only one who looked at ease, casually circling the room and dropping into the chair just across from Winston. Looks could be deceiving, though; the green eyes were piercing as they looked him over. Peter Venkman was the greatest mystery in the bunch, and the last to thaw to Winston’s arrival and accept him as one of the team. But the indifference and sarcasm had, over months, worn through to show a man underneath who was far more thoughtful and who cared more than he seemed. He’d been burned, though, and so he tried not to care too much. Not that it had ever worked, but Winston had respected the defense and hadn’t pushed. It had paid off in a friendship that was all the deeper for having been hard-won. Or so he’d thought. There was no give to those hard green eyes this time, no softening toward him. If he’d lost Peter’s trust in any way, Peter would probably want him gone, team or no. And Winston had no argument for that one.

Best to get this over with quickly before he chickened out completely.

“Do you guys want me to quit?” he blurted out, then held his breath. It hadn’t been quite what he’d intended to say.

Ray’s jaw dropped. Funny, Winston had never seen that cliché demonstrated so literally. Egon blinked blankly at him, and even Peter looked taken aback. But nobody was talking, so….

“I mean, I’ve been noticing some changes here, like maybe you all don’t trust me as much as I thought and, well, if you wanna find somebody else for the team, I’d rather hear it now, you know?”

Ray’s mouth was moving silently now. It would have been funny any other day. This silence was worse than the one in the car had been, however, and Winston wished _somebody_ would say something.

“I don’t understand. Want you to quit?” Egon asked uncertainly.

That was their resident genius’s brilliant response. Winston swallowed, his damp palms itching. “Look, I can take a hint. If you don’t think this is working, you _should_ find somebody else—a team only works if you can trust the other guys. I just want to know so I can start looking for something else, okay?” That sounded all right, didn’t it, not too desperate?

Peter was giving him one of those unreadable psychologist looks. “Don’t you already _have_ something else?”

“What?” That made no sense.

Peter seemed to change tacks. “Do you want to quit?”

“Do you want me to quit?” Winston cautiously countered.

“No!” Ray couldn’t have sounded more spontaneous.

That only increase Winston’s confusion. “No? But I thought—”

“What about the other job?” Peter again.

“What other job?” He was getting more lost by the minute.

“The one your friend offered you at his company, the one with better pay and the stuff you always wanted to do.”

“I don’t—wait, you mean Louie?” Winston frowned. “How’d you know about…?”

Three guilty expressions told him how. He hadn’t mentioned the offer from his childhood friend to anyone, which meant…they’d been even more suspicious of him than he’d thought. Winston drew himself upright, regret turning to anger. “You read my letter.”

“Only the beginning,” Peter quickly said.

“It was an accident, Winston—it fell open while Peter was recharging the packs and he read the first few lines before he’d realized it. We did not mean to pry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Egon, it’s not your fault. You didn’t even read it. I was the one who got the eyeful. I’m sorry, Winston,” Peter turned to him, “but it was just there and as soon as I saw the part about another job…I got worried.”

Worried? That he’d been offered another job? That didn’t sound like someone getting ready to fire him. Winston drew his eyebrows together. “Are you telling me you were _worried_ I’d take that job? That you didn’t _want_ me to quit?”

“Well, gee, of course not, Winston. You’re one of us now—we wouldn’t want you to go. Unless you wanted to go,” Ray added hurriedly.

“I don’t want to go, either. I already told Louie I was happy where I was, doin’ what I was with you guys. But I guess you didn’t read _that_ letter.” He couldn’t resist adding the last, but with weak sarcasm. He was starting to feel good, nearly weak with relief, and even an infringement on his privacy couldn’t mess that up too much. Especially when it had been done out of concern.

“Of course.” Egon sounded chagrined. “People who eavesdrop—or read letters not meant for them—rarely hear what they want to hear.” He was looking pointedly at Peter.

But Peter was ignoring him, focused on Winston. “Why did you think we wanted you to quit?”

Oh, that wariness was so familiar. Winston looked his friend steadily in the eye. “Because every time I turned around, one of you guys was watching me and pretending you weren’t. I bet you don’t remember a word you read of your Dewey LaMorte novel this afternoon. What’s a guy supposed to think when his buddies get all nervous around him?” Challenging Pete a bit would be good for him as long as Winston didn’t push too hard. He knew Peter had been shaken the worst, and Winston was starting to regret he’d worried them at all. He should have gotten rid of Louie’s letter, but there was that part about Catrice later on that bore rereading at least a couple of times. Surely the guys hadn’t read that part…nah.

Peter sat in inscrutable silence for a long moment, then finally said, “Actually, I think maybe it _is_ time for a change.”

Winston’s throat tightened, and peripherally he saw Egon and Ray and straighten. “Yeah?”

Peter’s expression never changed. “I think it’s time we made you an equal partner in the business, don’t you?”

Ray broke out in a grin, and Egon looked…approving, a small smile pulling at his lips. Winston must have looked like an idiot, he knew, staring first at them, then back at Peter. “You mean…are you sure about that, guys? I didn’t put in all that money and time you did to get things started.”

“You have certainly contributed your share since,” Egon said.

“We probably wouldn’t even be here still if it weren’t for you, Winston,” Ray added.

Peter still looked serious, but his eyes had softened, and suddenly he looked hopeful instead of guarded. “I can’t keep these two from blowing up the place and running out into the street all by myself.”

“Aw, Peter….”            

“You know this would mean no more fixed salary—you get a bigger cut when things are going well and tighten your belt with us when they drop off.” There was still some caution in Peter’s tone, but it was for Winston’s sake, not his own, now.

Winston shook his head. “I…I don’t know what to say, guys. I’d be honored.”

“That seems perfectly adequate.”

“Yeah—isn’t this great!”

Pete stood, and offered Winston a hand. And, finally a smile. “Don’t say we didn’t warn ya. Welcome home, partner.”

He loved the sound of that. Winston stood and shook Peter’s hand. “Thanks. I think.”

A moment of solemnity sealed the agreement, but the atmosphere in the room had warmed several degrees, and everyone finally looked at ease, even Peter. Because Winston had decided to stay. Amazing.

Ray finally spoke up. “Can we order some pizza now?”

Peter gave him a pat on the shoulder and went downstairs to use the shower there, while Ray offered a happy smile and headed for the phone. Egon nodded and echoed Peter’s welcome, and then also slipped off toward the stairs. Winston had an idea where he was going and stepped up behind him.

“Hey, Egon, can I give you a hand with that tricycle?”

Egon startled like an animal in the crosshairs. “No, I—” He glanced up at the ceiling toward the lab above and abruptly winced. “Well, perhaps another pair of hands would be useful. Only to hold things in place while I assemble them, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed seriously, but he was smiling inside, and darned if he didn’t think Egon was, too.

The last year had been good, but now it was perfect. Yeah, he could live without the guys if he had to, but it would be hard. He’d gotten kinda used to them, and it was a great feeling to know for sure it was mutual. More than that, it was family.

Winston was finally home.

The End


End file.
